


Bad End

by harinezumiko



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terminal Illnesses, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumiko/pseuds/harinezumiko
Summary: When Manjoume announces he's received a terminal diagnosis, what's a best friend to do but help him live out the rest of his life to the full?





	1. Zero - Off the path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manjoume has been putting it off, but it's time to confess to Fubuki... his prognosis, that is.

Manjoume knew he should have said something earlier.   He had been in denial, maybe; hoping that the Manjoume Group's resources could get him some miracle cure, some untested trial, some quack remedy known only to housewives in some backwater village.  He was receiving the best possible care, yes, but it was palliative care and on days like this, it just wasn't enough.  He doubled over in pain and clutched at Fubuki's sleeve to keep from falling in the street.

"Manjoume-kun!"  Fubuki supported his suffering friend and looked down in concern.  Manjoume wrapped an arm around Fubuki's waist, managing to wrench himself upright.  His face was pale, noticed Fubuki, and his lips oddly twisted in mockery of the soft smile he usually wore in Fubuki's presence.  Then Manjoume retched, hard, the spasms wracking his body and juddering through Fubuki's own.

Fubuki guided Manjoume to a nearby bench and sat the two of them down, rubbing Manjoume's back as he fished in his pocket for his phone.  Manjoume laid a hand over Fubuki's wrist and managed to croak out "No".

"I don't like the look of this, Manjoume-kun."  Fubuki's thumb was already over the call button on his  phone, but still, he paused at Manjoume's instruction.  "I think we should get you to a hospital."

"No point," said Manjoume, now resting his fists on his knees, curling his fingernails into his palms in an effort to distract from his mutinous body eating itself from the inside out.  He swallowed, trying to keep the bile down.  "Could you possibly get me a glass of water, please?"

"Of course."  Uncertain about leaving Manjoume alone even for a moment, Fubuki managed to catch the attention of a young lady, sending her off to the nearby cafe.

Manjoume smiled wryly, with difficulty.  "Even pushing forty, you've still got the magic, Master."

"I must have the kindly father figure thing going on." Fubuki smiled back.

"You don't have any kids."  Manjoume concentrated on the conversation, on keeping relatively upright and on the reassuring pressure of Fubuki's hand running up and down his back.  "Why haven't you married yet?  Any girl would have you."

Fubuki gave Manjoume a sidelong glance.  "I guess I never met one who could measure up to -"  He trailed off as his young assistant returned, thanking her and holding the plastic cup for Manjoume while the other man fumbled a couple of pills out of their foil packaging.  The girl hovered nervously for a while until Fubuki dismissed her with a few quiet words and a smile.

Manjoume took a swig of the water and grimaced.  "Does this taste funny to you?"  He noticed Fubuki's cautious sniff at the cup and added, "It's okay, I'm not infectious."

"Seems okay to me."  Fubuki handed the cup back after a small sip.

Manjoume sighed and popped one of the pills in his mouth, gulping it down with water and resisting the urge to throw it straight back up.  "Nothing tastes right any more.  Not even water, which is supposed to taste of nothing."

Fubuki sat quietly while Manjoume swallowed the second pill, waiting for him to continue.  His heart had been steadily sinking for some time and was now apparently somewhere in the vicinity of his thighs, judging from how weak his legs felt.

 "It's cancer."  Manjoume spat the word out quickly, afraid that otherwise, he'd find some way to put off telling Fubuki as he had in past months.  He felt a pause in Fubuki's gentle strokes and leant in to his master's shoulder, desperate for the comforting touches to continue.  Fubuki's arm settled around Manjoume's back, his hand now running up and down Manjoume's upper arm.  "Stomach cancer.  But they didn't catch it early enough, and it spread."

Fubuki turned his head, nuzzling into Manjoume's short, greying hair to hide his eyes from view.  "Is there -"

"No."  Manjoume pre-empted the rest of the question.  "I've already had surgery, radiation, the works.  And even then, it was just prolonging the inevitable."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? " Fubuki said, his voice catching.

Manjoume shrugged and let Fubuki draw him in to a full, if somewhat tentative, hug.  It hurt a little more, but he bore it.  Fubuki probably needed the contact as much as he did.  "I've come back from so much else better and stronger, I guess I didn't think this would be any different.  And I see you so rarely now.   Thought it might put a damper on things."

"Yeah, I guess it did." Fubuki sighed.

"Aren't you going to ask how long?" Manjoume watched the bustling plaza, people scurrying around heading for shops and restaurants and dates, all of it now forever alien to him.

"No."  Fubuki immediately regretted his sharp answer.  "I don't think I'm ready to know, sorry."

Manjoume stood, a little unsteadily. "I'm tired.  I should go home."

"I'll drive you."  Fubuki got to his feet, but Manjoume waved a hand to decline the offer.

"There's a limo waiting."  Manjoume met unexpected resistance as he started walking.  Fubuki was tugging at his sleeve.

"Manjoume-kun."  Fubuki's face was taut, the laughter lines now barely visible at the corners of his serious brown eyes.  "Is there anything you want to do, later?  Like, um, visit the pyramids or dance in the rain?"

"I'll think about it."  Manjoume's lips curved upwards just slightly.  "Send you a list, if you're saying you'll come with me.  It won't be easy playing nurse."

"But you have to admit I'll look good in the outfit."

* * *

They had retreated to the library in the Manjoume family mansion, it being one of the rooms the older brothers rarely set foot in.  Fubuki thought the room smelt stuffy, and the high-backed chairs Manjoume and he were currently sat in forced him into a stiff, unnatural posture.

"Beat Judai?"  Fubuki raised his eyes from the handwritten note and chuckled.  "You really do hold a grudge longer than anyone else I know."

"It's not a grudge."  Manjoume crossed his arms and looked away.  "It's justice.  I'm a way better duelist than him and he knows it.  I bet that's why he's not responded to my email."

"Right," Fubuki said slowly, deciding to let that one go.  "Well, we'll see Judai when we see him, I guess.  Have you told him?"

"No."  Manjoume fiddled with the cuff of his shirt.  "The only people that know are you, my brothers, Junko and Kaoru.  Well, sort of.  I'm not really sure she understands, yet.  And my agent."

"It might speed Judai up a little if you did," said Fubuki quietly.

"Maybe," said Manjoume with a scowl.  "But I can't take any more pity.  The looks in their eyes...  I'm okay.  I'm coping.  I don't want people walking on eggshells around me."

"People care about you, Manjoume-kun.  Don't you think they deserve to know?"

"I've told everyone that really matters."

"Oh really?"  Fubuki said sharply.  He grabbed Manjoume's shoulders and twisted his upper body, forcing him to face Fubuki.  "Well, it certainly took you long enough.  And you don't get to be the arbiter of how people feel about you.  Judai, Asuka, Shou...  We all have the right to -"

"The right to make me feel like trash?"  Manjoume hung his head, his eyes in shadow, and choked the words out.  "Let go, you're hurting me."

Fubuki's hands dropped to his sides.  "The right to say goodbye."

"I'm not gone yet, don't talk about me like I am."  Manjoume turned away again, not willing to look Fubuki in the eyes given the anger in his voice.  "I can't take this from you, Master."

"Then you're not okay, and you're not coping."  Fubuki leaned in, wrapping his arms around Manjoume's back to pull his head to Fubuki's chest.  Manjoume's hands gripped the soft fabric of Fubuki's shirt.  "Please don't feel you have to bear this alone."

"All right," Manjoume screwed his eyes tightly closed, still trying to keep the visible signs of emotion locked up.  The angle of his body was giving him pain, but he wasn't ready to relinquish Fubuki's hold just yet.  His voice came out thick and muffled.  "I'll tell them, because you asked.  But let me do it in my own time, please."

"Sure."  Fubuki blinked back the prickling behind his eyes.  It was some time before they moved.


	2. One - Spend some time with Kaoru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manjoume tries to bolster his relationship with his daughter from a former marriage. To Kaibaland we go. Contains hair brushing~

Junko patted down her slightly frazzled-looking auburn hair at the open apartment door.  "Fubuki-san!  If I'd known you were coming..."  She glared at Manjoume, but stepped aside to allow them entry.

A young girl was clinging to Junko's leg, not yet up to her mother's waist in height.  Manjoume squatted down to her level and ruffled her shock of black hair, his smile forced more widely than felt natural.  "Hello, Kaoru.  We're going to Kaiba Land, are you excited?"

Kaoru retreated further behind Junko's leg, waving a stubby finger in Fubuki's direction.  "Who's that?"

"That?"  Manjoume straightened up, briefly patting Fubuki's back.  "This is Fubuki-san.  He's Daddy's very best friend in the whole world."

"Is he a ghost, too?" Kaoru asked.  Fubuki's grin cracked a little.

"Oh, I do wish you hadn't filled her head with all that nonsense," Junko said.  "No, Kaoru, Fubuki-san's very much a real person.  Now you run and get your coat."

"It's not nonsense, and you know it," Manjoume hissed at Junko as Kaoru skipped off.

"That's as maybe, but how's she going to cope in the real world if she keeps telling everyone she can see things they can't?"

"Well guess what, these things unleash seven kinds of hell on the real world from time to time, we have to equip her to deal with that."

Fubuki coughed next to Manjoume, and Junko gestured in his direction.  "See, Fubuki-san agrees with me."  She looked at Fubuki, pleading and exasperated.  "Could you talk some sense into him?"

"It's not my place, ma'am," said Fubuki, as non-committal as he dared.

Fortunately at that point Kaoru came scampering back into the room, and Junko started to fuss over her, buttoning up her coat.  "You behave yourself today, you're in company."

"Muuuummmmm..." said Kaoru, backing away from Junko who was wiping her face with a moistened tissue.

"Have her back by six, and don't feed her too much junk for once.  She's always sick after visiting you."

"Yeah, yeah."  Manjoume took one of Kaoru's little hands in his, and she held out the other to Fubuki, jumping excitedly when he took it.

* * *

They'd taken a break from the shows and junior rides to stop off at the small petting zoo.  For once, no dragons.  Manjoume and Fubuki hung over the fence, watching as Kaoru held fistfuls of food out to a hairy pig and squealed at its snuffling around her fingers.

"She's looking more like you, now," said Fubuki.

"You think so?"  Manjoume smiled softly.  "I suppose it has been years since you saw her.  I'm amazed, every time I see her, she's grown so much."

"It must be hard," said Fubuki, "only visiting every so often."

"It makes sense."  Manjoume picked at the wire on the fence.  "I was away so much, touring, working unsociable hours when I was around...  I never could look after her properly, even before the divorce."

"I'm sure you do what you can."

"Well, I know she's provided for financially, at least."  Manjoume looked across at the ethereal paper aeroplane floating on the breeze, Kaoru merrily explaining the concept of a pig to the yellow figure atop it.  "And I know she's never alone."

"So it's true, she can see card spirits?"  Fubuki followed Manjoume's gaze, and saw nothing beyond the girl feeding the pig.

"Yes."  Manjoume laughed.  "The Ojamas are scared of her, actually, she used to play really rough with them."  He took his deck from his pocket and tapped it.  "Is that why you bums are so quiet lately?  They're ignoring me.  I never thought I'd miss them, but..."  He trailed off.

"They've been a big part of your life," said Fubuki.

"Yeah," said Manjoume.  "They have."

* * *

After lunch - Fubuki and Kaoru had too much pizza; Manjoume managed a bite or two and some pain medication - they walked around the sculpted grounds of the park, the men taking it in turns to give the giggling Kaoru a piggyback.  When Manjoume felt exhaustion creeping on he led the others to a clear patch of grass.  Sitting down was a relief, but the air felt chilly and Manjoume reached out to hug Kaoru.  She escaped his arms, running instead to Fubuki, and Manjoume arched an eyebrow.  "Well, it seems you've made a friend, Master."

"Don't you want to be with your daddy, Kaoru?"  Fubuki said, looking at Manjoume apologetically.

Kaoru shook her head vehemently.  "'Buki has pretty hair."

"Daddy has pretty hair too, don't you think?"  Fubuki tried, and failed, to duck away from Kaoru's advancing fingers.

"No," said Kaoru with assuredness, producing a plastic-bristled hairbrush from a bag and starting to stroke Fubuki's long tresses with it.  "But 'Buki's going to be even prettier now."

"Kaoru, stop manhandling our guest, please."  Manjoume raised his voice, its tone that mixture of sharpness and weary adoration that only parenting could provoke.  "Kaoru!"

"It's okay, Manjoume-kun.  I don't mind."  Fubuki beamed, somewhat self-consciously, and surrendered to the overpowering will of a three-and-a-half-year-old.

"You can have this," said Kaoru graciously, pressing the brush into Fubuki's hand, "if you like Daddy's hair."

"I don't think Daddy wants me to do that," said Fubuki, feeling small tugs around his head as Kaoru began to attempt a braid.

"Yes he does," asserted Kaoru, over Manjoume's silence.

"Well, you heard her," said Fubuki with a quirk of the lips.  "Get over here, Manjoume-kun."

To Fubuki's surprise, Manjoume moved without protest, settling in between Fubuki's knees.  Fubuki began, hesitantly, using his left hand to separate sections of Manjoume's unruly hair, brushing with his right, then smoothing with his left again.

"It's relaxing," said Manjoume, by way of hurried explanation.  "She does this a lot."

"Oh?" said Fubuki, and Manjoume shivered.  "Are you cold?"

"A little," said Manjoume, and it was true.  But the feeling of Fubuki's breath on the back of his neck, and Fubuki's soft strokes of his hair, had been at least partly responsible.

* * *

Fubuki glanced in the rear-view mirror.  One small girl, head lolling open-mouthed against the car window; one man, younger than he looked, eyes closed and eyebrows puckered.  It had been a long day for the both of them.

"Manjoume-kun," said Fubuki quietly, selfishly longing for conversation on the drive back.

"Mmm?" said Manjoume, and Fubuki caught a flash of his grey eyes in the rear view mirror.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess."  Manjoume shifted in his seat, the safety belt restraining him uncomfortably, trying to hold himself together at least until they had dropped Kaoru off.  "Thanks for coming today."

"Any time," said Fubuki.  "It's been fun."

"Yeah."  Manjoume smiled at the memories.  "Are you sure about this though?  Leaving work and everything?"

"It's just a sabbatical, I can go back."  Fubuki checked his mirrors before making the turn, taking it as slowly as possible to avoid jarring his passengers.  "I'm not giving up this chance to spend time with you."

"Even if it's all downhill from here?"  Manjoume watched Fubuki's hands clench the wheel tighter, saw the slight twist of Fubuki's head in his direction.

Fubuki's voice strained to be jovial.  "Like it or not, I'm here for you."

"Daddy?"  Kaoru piped up, her voice wavering from sleepiness, and Fubuki returned his full attention to the road.  "Will you come back as a ghost, like Soitsu?"

"I sure as hell hope not," muttered Manjoume under his breath.  And then, out loud, "Kaoru, Soitsu's a card spirit.  Not the ghost of a person.  As long as you hold on tight to that card, it'll stay with you.  People are different."  He reached out to take his daughter's hand before continuing.  "Remember me, talk to me if you need to.  But the second I talk back, get out of there, you hear me?"

Kaoru fidgeted, pulling her hand away.  "I don't want to talk to you anyway."

"Why not?"

"I'm mad at you."  Kaoru pouted and crossed her arms, body language unconsciously learned from her father.  "You're leaving again."

Manjoume sighed, resignedly.  "Sometimes we all have to do things we don't want to, Kaoru.  And sometimes we want things we can't have."  He'd fought for them, of course; fought for victories, fought for Asuka, fought for his family.  But fighting a lost cause led to wars of attrition that benefited no-one.  "It took me a long time to learn that."


	3. Two - Visit North Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for North Academy's prized deck to return home.

Manjoume returned from the bathroom on unsteady legs, supported by Fubuki, wiping the back of his mouth with his coat sleeve.  The two slumped down onto the semicircular cream leather sofa.  Manjoume hung his head in his hands.  "I knew we should have taken the helicopter."

"It was your idea to take the yacht." Fubuki reminded Manjoume gently, and patted him on the shoulder.  He had hoped it was simply seasickness plaguing Manjoume, but the dark red splashes in the toilet bowl proved otherwise.  The disease, and side-effects from the many medications, hadn't been giving Manjoume a moment's respite lately.

"I thought it would be nostalgic."  Manjoume barked a harsh laugh.  "At least I hired the professionals this time to save you a dunk in the ocean."  Nostalgia wasn't the right word, really.  He still remembered the needling pain of the icy water in his limbs, the tug of his waterlogged clothes pulling him down, the burning inside as he gasped frigid lungfuls of the ocean instead of air.  And the almost peaceful feeling of surrender as he passed out.  He'd died there, before, and been reborn for the first time.  Manjoume had thought himself a phoenix but perhaps he was simply a cat, now on his ninth and final life.

The yacht's speed had slowed considerably as it navigated between icebergs.  Manjoume looked impatiently out at the frozen wasteland, his miscalculation only now starting to stir in his gut.  He flopped sideways to lie on the couch.  "I'm an idiot."

"Hmmm?"  Fubuki tipped his head to one side, enquiring.

"The only way to arrive at North Academy is by submarine."  Manjoume stared at his own clenched fingers.  "You can't even get close any other way."

"Oh..." Fubuki walked over to the window to survey the situation, clasping his hands behind his back.  "We could always get out and walk."

Manjoume snorted.  "I wouldn't do that again, not even in the peak of health."

"It doesn't look that far," Fubuki said, pressing a finger to the glass, and casting a grin back over his shoulder.

"No, really -" Manjoume started, but something in the quirk of Fubuki's lips pulled him over to look.

"I guess they knew you were coming."  Fubuki put an arm around Manjoume's waist to keep him upright as the yacht's engines stopped, allowing the Academy's sub to pull up alongside.

* * *

Fubuki was momentarily glad to have the crisp Arctic air fill his lungs after the oddly chemical smell of the submarine.  The feeling didn't last, as the cold soon spread tendrils throughout his body despite the puffy coat and gloves.  It wasn't that he hadn't believed Manjoume's stories, but being here put them in a context he hadn't yet fully appreciated.

There was only one door in the colossal edifice in front of them and it opened now with a rush of wind.  A figure strode towards the pair, a barrel of a man, made even more so by the many-layered clothing wrapped about him.  Fubuki let go of Manjoume as he felt the other straighten up.  Image-conscious always.  Still, Fubuki hovered by Manjoume's elbow, just in case.

"King," greeted Manjoume, confidently.

There was a pause.  Edogawa dropped to his knees.  Another moment, and then "Manjoume-sanda!" came his shout.  It was soon echoed from inside the academy, the students' voices joining their principal's in the chant and growing in strength.  "Thunder!  Thunder!  THUNDER!"

Fubuki couldn't help but be swept along with it, revelling in the shared euphoria as Manjoume threw his fist to the sky and led his trademark slogan.  The feeling didn't last.  Up close, he could see the physical strain showing in Manjoume's shaking arm and wavering posture.

* * *

"Damn, but that was a great duel," said Edogawa.  He lit the samovar, preparing tea as Manjoume and Fubuki sat gratefully in the functional, rather than comfortable, office chairs.  "Of course, I teach your conquest here to all our new students, but it's a whole different experience for them to see you duel in person."

Manjoume fidgeted.  He didn't feel he'd put on his best show, even though he had won.  He had been tired, his painkillers had worn off half way through, and the Ojamas had been sullen and uncooperative.  But to admit he was past his best in present company didn't bear thinking about.  "I'd say I'd give you a thrashing any time, but I don't think I'll be coming back.  I've done what I came here for."

"Yeah, thank you for returning such a prize."  Edogawa looked at the cards Manjoume had slung carelessly on the desk next to the principal’s nameplate, lifted them reverently, and placed them in a velvet-lined strongbox.  "I'll see that they are used with honour."

Manjoume shrugged.  "I don't know why I held on to them for so long, really.  Principal Ichinose bugged me every year, asking for them back.  Even after he retired."

Edogawa nodded.  "And he was always bugging Principal Samejima about Tome-san, too.  When I took over that's one tradition I was glad to axe."

"Yeah.  Creepy."  Manjoume took the tea he was offered, letting the cup warm his frozen fingers.  That was welcome, even if the too-sweet smell made him nauseous.  He stifled a yawn.

"And you, Tenjoin-san, how's tricks?  We don't get much call for entertainment dueling out here, but I hear it's all the rage at Central."

"Alas, not so much."  Fubuki tore his attention from Manjoume's shaking leg to join the conversation.  "There's still a lot of resistance from the old guard.  People who don't believe that an element of showmanship truly belongs in dueling, much less that it can be taught.  The kids seem to like it, based on this year's intake, although I suspect some might be taking it because they think it's an easy credit."

Edogawa roared with laughter.  "There's nothing easy about playing to a crowd."

"Well," Fubuki demurred, "for some it will come naturally - but they still much have to learn if they don't want to be a one-gimmick wonder at the mercy of some shocking promoter."

"Ain't that the truth."  Edogawa raised his teacup before knocking it back in one go.

"Anyway," Fubuki continued, "I'm taking a career break at the moment, for personal reasons."  He looked over at Manjoume, inviting him to jump in, but Edogawa got there first.

"Really? They let you? You only just set up that course! They'll run it into the ground without you!"

Manjoume's expression was as black as his nickname.  Fubuki pushed on, trying to undo the damage.  "I've left it in good hands.  Kohara's great, really, and it's so inspiring for them to learn from someone who's had to overcome such terrible stage fright -"

"Kohara," Manjoume spat, with more venom than the absent professor deserved, but he was barely holding it together right now and this was one revelation too far.  "Your project, and you abandoned it?  For this?  My round-the-world march towards death?"

"For you," said Fubuki, louder.  "I wanted to help!"  The two barely registered Edogawa leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.  A muffled wailing came from the corridor.

"You always do this!"  Manjoume shouted right back.  He didn't mean to drop the cup, but he heard the smash, felt the warm splash of the tea on his trousers, before he'd registered his fingers losing their grip.  "You literally hurt yourself back at Duel Academy - more than once.  You passed up that idol opportunity to look after the Kaiser when Shou couldn’t.  You wouldn't join his league because you just _had_ to be with Fujiwara night and day.  You drop everything to help others get on and screw your own life over in the process!"

"What is so wrong with caring for my friends?"  Fubuki's voice had dropped dangerously soft.  His eyes were narrowed, scowling, and locked on Manjoume's.  "Don't you deign to tell me what should matter to me in my own life!  Which is not screwed, by the way.  I can go back later, if I want."

"Later," sniffed Manjoume, "after I'm dead you mean.  After your first class has left knowing nothing of what you promised them."

"Do you want me to go?"  Fubuki waited for a response, but Manjoume just threw a surly expression in his general vicinity.  "Look, if you don't want me here, just say so!  But they'll have to drag me kicking and screaming away from you, because there is no way I'm leaving without a fight."  Fubuki felt his face heating uncomfortably.

Manjoume reflexively reached for his deck, but thought better of it.  One duel a week was too much these days.  He collapsed, deflated, in his chair.  "I do want you.  Here."

"Well, sometimes you have a funny way of showing it."  Fubuki looked away, trying to compose his features into something more befitting of the former Blizzard Prince.  He didn't look back when Manjoume took his hand.


	4. Three - Fubuki's choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fubuki moves in to the Manjoume family mansion, to the disapproval of Jun's brothers, and he's got a surprise.

The library was fast becoming their haunt, now that Manjoume rarely left the house.  The room smelt better now it was in use and aired occasionally, but the subdued colours and dusty books still lent it an oppressive atmosphere to Fubuki's eyes.  It was worrying to him how much Manjoume seemed as old and faded as the room’s trappings. Manjoume handed Fubuki a piece of crumpled paper, much marked with crossing out, and one notable addition.

"My choice?" Fubuki looked up from the revised bucket list, eyes narrowed in puzzlement.  "Why?"

Manjoume shrugged.  "It's not like I can do much of what I planned any more.  So I figured maybe there's something you've always wanted to do.  Together."  His eyes flicked up to meet Fubuki's for the briefest moment.

"A million and one things," said Fubuki, softly.

"So, pick one." Manjoume had always been prone to blushing, but against his paper-white skin the flush stood out uncomfortably.  "As thanks.  Anything."

"Anything?"

"Yeah."

It was a question worthy of much more consideration than Fubuki had time to give.  Every moment was precious, and every second ticking away as he paused was lost.  There could only be one answer.  "I want to move in with you."

"What? Why? You hate it here."

"I don't hate it, I just... think it could do with being brightened up a bit."  Fubuki gestured vaguely in the direction of one of the many stacks of dark-stained shelves.

"You hate it.  I hate it."

"But you're here. And if I was here too, then I guarantee I'll make it more fun."

Manjoume considered, before flashing Fubuki a mischievous grin.  "My brothers will have a fit.  You're on."

* * *

"He can’t stay any longer."  Shoji tapped his fingers impatiently on his crossed arms and fixed his youngest brother with an authoritative scowl.  "Poor Yamato-san is close to resigning over the long hairs in the hot tub."

"This is as much my home as yours," Manjoume spat back, daring Shoji to say otherwise. “He’s my guest, and I say he’s welcome to stay as long as he wants.”  Fubuki had headed into town to pick up some things, and Manjoume's brothers were using the respite to rip him a new one about their unwanted lodger – like he had the energy for argument.

"He's turning out to be a real nuisance," Chosaku added.  "He's always poking his head in places. I'm a very busy man. I don’t have time for small talk."

"It's called being friendly.  You should try it some time."

"And we made sure to get you all the aids you need, Jun, and the best possible nursing care." A pained look crossed Shoji's face as he gestured at Manjoume’s wheelchair.  "They're right here.  So what's this... this... hippie doing, prancing around the place in a cheap costume minidress?  He's a grown man!"

"Kissing my boo-boos better, what else!"  Fubuki had done no such thing, but if Jun's brothers were going to be infantile about the situation, then Jun would give as good as he got.  "Have either of you ever actually spoken to him?  Because if you had, you'd realise that Fubuki is bright, selfless, fun, considerate, loving.  All qualities you could stand to gain.  You might even, heavens forbid, _like_ him."

"Heavens forbid indeed." Shoji rolled his eyes.

"He's really not the kind of person we'd care to associate ourselves with." Chosaku made to leave the library.

"We just want the best for you, Jun, and we're concerned about the character and... proclivities of this individual."  Shoji hoped his smile came across as appropriately caring.  Grief was nothing new to the Manjoume brothers, and the elder two found it simpler to treat the whole sorry affair with a professional detachment.  The youngest, however, followed a more sentimental bent, and the gulf between them widened every time they argued.

Manjoume wished he had the strength to slam the library door on Shoji's retreating back.

Out in the hallway, Shoji heaved an uncharacteristic sigh. “Why won’t he understand? It’s obvious how much they like each other, but Jun shouldn’t get attached. This is only going to cause them both more pain.”

Chosaku slowly unclenched his fists, flexing the fingers a few times to relieve tension. “Jun’s made it clear he doesn’t want our protection. I’m going to the gym.”

“Wait up, I’ll come too.”

* * *

With a flourish, Fubuki whipped the silk scarf from Manjoume's eyes.  "Ta-daaa!"

"It's the library door." Manjoume stared, unimpressed, at the brown panels.  All that effort to get out of his room (albeit now moved to the ground floor) and manoeuvre himself down the hall, and just to find himself at their usual hangout.

"Look again," urged Fubuki.  "Look up."

Doing as instructed, Manjoume's eyes settled on a new, bronze, addition to the door.  "Games room?"

Fubuki, all smiles, swung open the door.  Gone were the floor-length curtains of heavy primrose brocade, gone too the dusty volumes of old law journals and finance textbooks.  The stiff-backed chairs with their sagging upholstery were no more.  In place of the books some shelves now held, carefully organised, Manjoume's card collection.  Others held CDs, DVD recordings of duels, video games, and figures.  Any inch of spare wall space was covered with memorabilia from Manjoume's matches - posters, news reports, supporters' slogans.

"You did all this?" Manjoume asked, wheeling himself around the empty floor to try to take it all in.

"Wait for the best part." Fubuki closed the door behind them, and pushed some buttons on a new control panel beneath the light switch.  With a gentle whirr, black blinds descended to cover the windows, blocking out the natural light entirely.  The electronic lights dimmed too, as something beneath Manjoume's chair began to hum, and out of the darkness came pinpricks of almost-white light - stars, constellations, galaxies, all whirling and coalescing into the instantly recognisable KC logo, rotating slowly in sharp and glittering 3D in the centre of the room.

"It's a new VR system, in beta, they were looking for testers."  Fubuki's voice was unexpectedly close to Manjoume's ear, making him jump.  "We can go anywhere, and stay right here.  I'll show you how it works."

* * *

The waves lapped slowly at the shore of the tropical island, their gentle rhythm soothing to the eyes and ears. Kaiba Corporation technology was the peak of virtual reality and improving with each new release. No sense was overlooked: the sand underneath Fubuki’s fingertips felt warm and gritty, thanks to the implant which translated the system’s programming into nerve impulses. It wouldn’t be cheap, when it was launched, but Seto Kaiba’s concerns lay beyond the purely financial. There was a reason he’d wanted to use an invalid for testing, after all.

One thing the system couldn’t do, at least not yet, was alleviate pain. Manjoume had knocked back a dose of morphine and was waiting impatiently for it to kick in. He looked over at Fubuki, rubbing realistic-looking sand between his fingers, and then back out to the ocean.

“I’ve instructed Dr Tanaka that when it comes, she’s not to attempt to resuscitate,” said Manjoume, unflinchingly. “You should know.”

Fubuki shifted on the sand, propping himself up on the arm of Manjoume’s chair, trying to suppress a rising panic. Some part of Fubuki’s heart still tried to cling on to hope. It was one thing knowing what was going to happen, but quite another talking about it so matter-of-factly. “It’s your decision, of course, but… why? Don’t you want to fight it?”

Manjoume grimaced. “If it gets to that, I’ve already lost. Resuscitation only works sometimes, and if it does, I risk brain damage or a coma. I don’t want to put myself through more than I have to. Or you, for that matter.”

Fubuki hummed quietly, thinking, and squeezed Manjoume’s hand briefly. “Well, if it comes to that, you have to promise me to come back stronger in your next life.”

“I always do.” Manjoume smiled, the same soft and warm smile Fubuki was used to from their chats at school, and for a moment he looked young again. “Who knows, maybe Misawa will crack the gate to the afterlife with his dimension-hopping.”

“That would certainly cement his second Nobel Prize nomination,” Fubuki chuckled.

Manjoume tipped his head back, feeling the setting sun warm on his face, Fubuki’s fingers resting atop his own, and his head beginning to float on a comforting analgesic cloud. It created a soporific effect and while he knew he needed all the sleep he could get, he wasn’t ready to give up on consciousness quite yet. “Keep talking,” he asked. “Keep me awake.” The stirrings of anxiety fluttered about what remained of Manjoume’s stomach, driving him to clutch at Fubuki’s fingers until they wrapped softly about his own.

“Why did you want to come here?” asked Fubuki. “All the world at your feet, and you chose Duel Academy.”

“It’s peaceful.”

Fubuki laughed, looking around at the beach, the trees, the cliff, taking in the island as it appeared with only the two of them on it. “It seems like it now, I’ll grant. But so much happened here. We had to save the world so many times!”

“Yeah… I have good and bad memories, sure. I wasn’t planning to accidentally summon any mythic beasts this time. It’s just… we first got talking right here, on the beach.”

“I remember. You made quite the impression, young student. And you were so lovelorn my heart really went out to you.” Fubuki laced his fingers in and out of Manjoume’s, feeling his crepe skin, a result of the weight loss and dehydration.

“I felt, talking to you, that everything was going to be ok. That if I stayed close to you, I could make my dream a reality. But I got rejected.”

“I’m sorry, Manjoume-kun. There’s no accounting for Asuka’s taste. If I’d been on the receiving end of that passionate love letter…”

“Eh, that’s not the point.” Manjoume waved his free hand dismissively. “The point is… what was I saying…”

“You got rejected?”

“Before that.”

“You thought everything was going to be ok.”

“Yes, that’s it. And every time since then – getting Asuka back from the Society of Light, getting stuck in the hell dimension, fighting the forces of Darkness, or just seeing you in the crowd at one of my duels… It always feels the same, being with you.” Manjoume looked intently at Fubuki, sat beside him, his head tilted up towards Manjoume’s.

“Ah, am I that predictable?” Fubuki faked a dramatic sigh, breaking eye contact for a second, but not stopping his gentle stroking of Manjoume’s hand. “Should I summon those mythic beasts to liven things up?”

Manjoume ignored the interruption. He could feel his speech starting to thicken and slur in his mouth, and he wanted to finish his train of thought before the drugs derailed it. “I know it’s just who you are, and everyone else probably gets the same impression – I only have to ask your fanclub – but thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“There’s no way I’d have left you alone,” said Fubuki, smiling gently.

“I’m always so scared.” Manjoume sounded more exhausted than dejected, but still Fubuki moved behind his chair to wrap him in a tight back hug, as best he could manage. Manjoume lifted his hands, with some effort, to rest them on Fubuki’s forearms. “You know those yellow beads, they’re supposed to stop it, but they don’t.”

“Your anxiety meds?” Fubuki had noticed Manjoume sometimes confused words now he was on higher dosage, but he had limited wants – water, bath, medication – so it was usually not too hard to guess.

But Manjoume didn’t respond. Fubuki’s heart beat an urgent rhythm as he checked Manjoume’s breathing. A soft exhale, and “I’m scared, too,” Fubuki whispered as he pulled a blanket over the sleeping Manjoume’s lap.

On the island, the sun was setting, just as it had that day at Duel Academy.


	5. Four - Beat Judai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It becomes clear Manjoume is in his final days, and several visitors stop by. Fubuki tries to sing his feelings.

There was a knock at the door of Manjoume's room, harsh against the background of his irregular breathing.  Fubuki let go of Manjoume's skeletal hand, put down the book he'd been reading aloud, and went to open the door.  A shock of auburn hair sat atop a face set in crisper lines than their final school year, but still instantly familiar.

"Shoji said I could show myself in," said Judai quietly.

"You're too late," whispered Fubuki, letting Judai in and closing the door after him.  "He doesn't wake up much anymore.  Hardly moves at all.  The doctor says he might still be able to hear us, though."

Judai bowed his head.  "He hasn't got long, has he?"

"Days, maybe."

Judai took the single seat at Manjoume's bedside.  "I came as soon as I could."

"I know, you have responsibilities."  It came out harsher than Fubuki intended. As much as he'd have liked to chew Judai out for not taking a single day out to spend with a once-close friend in his last months, there would never be a time for that now.  Fubuki perched on the edge of the bed and swabbed Manjoume's mouth to moisten his cracked lips.

Judai raised his voice at last and spoke jovially.  "So, Manjoume, I got your invitation.  Ready to lay it on me?"

Manjoume's breathing quickened, a gurgling sound escaping his throat.  Fubuki tipped Manjoume's head up slightly to place another pillow under his head and the rattling subsided.  "Thunder, he's reminding you."  Fubuki brushed Manjoume's limp hair away from his closed eyes.

"You could play the cards for him, Fubuki-san," said Judai after a while with no further response from Manjoume.  "You know his style."

"It wouldn't feel right," said Fubuki.  "I could only pull off a pale imitation.  Besides, he's taken apart his decks."  Fubuki rummaged in a drawer in the bedside cabinet and passed a small envelope he found there to Judai.  "He wants you to have these."

Judai ran a finger under the sealed flap, releasing three duel spirits before he had even removed their cards from the envelope.  The Ojamas hugged each other and wailed, Yellow spouting fountains from his eyes and Green snot from his nose.  Judai thought he saw Manjoume's eyebrow twitch.  "Keep it down, guys, would you?"

Oblivious to the spirits' inelegant display, Fubuki continued.  "Manjoume-kun's leaving you his whole collection, but he wants to make sure you got these personally."  Fubuki shrugged and raised his eyebrows quizzically.   "He says he wants to annoy you from beyond."

Judai looked at the Ojamas, who were now poking and prodding at their prone master and muttering to each other.  "How kind of you, Manjoume.  I guess you did get the better of me, after all."  He was not looking forward to explaining this to Yubel, who was thankfully keeping a considerate distance in his mind at present.  Manjoume's entire collection would easily run into five figures.  Even if not every monster card had an attendant and sociable spirit, the Ojamas alone would be more than enough to cause some friction in their lives.  "Back in the envelope, you three," he ordered.  The revolting creatures ignored him and clung to Manjoume.  Judai gave them a flash of his golden eyes, the pressure making Fubuki recoil a little.  "Say goodbye and get in the envelope."

With a yelp the Ojamas obeyed, and Judai resealed the flap. It was hard to tell these days, but Fubuki thought he saw the minutest of tensions appear and disappear on Manjoume’s forehead.

* * *

_Three weeks earlier_

“Manjoume-kun. Manjoume-kun,” Fubuki patted Manjoume’s arm gently but insistently. “You have a visitor you’ll want to wake up for.”

“Unhhh…” Manjoume stirred, grasping around for Fubuki’s hand before attempting the tedious task of opening his eyes. “Who…” It came out creaky and he blearily looked around for water. Fubuki elevated the bed’s headrest, then held a glass for Manjoume, helping him locate the accompanying straw.  After Manjoume had taken a few sips, he tried to focus on Fubuki, and was rewarded with a warm smile. As hard as it was with his cracked lips, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“My most precious treasure, straight off the plane from Australia but still as fresh as a spring day.”

“A-Asuka?” Manjoume patted down his pyjama shirt and ran a futile hand through his hair.

Fubuki arranged the bedsheets neatly over Manjoume’s lap. “She insisted on coming here before the hotel, so be careful. She can be a bit grouchy with jet lag.”

“Who’s grouchy?” A familiar voice came from the hallway, making Fubuki squeak and jump.

“Come in, dear sister!”

Whether the room brightened at Asuka’s entrance or Fubuki drawing the curtains, Manjoume didn’t care to distinguish. There she was, strong and beautiful, a creature of the day as much as Manjoume frequented the dark, and forever just out of reach.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Fubuki, winking at Manjoume as he closed the door behind himself.

Asuka glared at the door. “He said he’d stop all that after I got married, but he’s still trying it, huh.”

“It’s his way.” Manjoume gestured at the chair by his bedside, and Asuka took it. “Is Jim not with you?”

“Not today. But if you’d like to see him, he does want to visit.”

“Sure,” said Manjoume, without much enthusiasm.

“How are you feeling?” Asuka’s concerned expression told Manjoume that however he felt, he certainly looked like shit.

“I’ve been better,” said Manjoume, with a wry smile. He looked to the closed door, suddenly missing the man who had been a constant presence in his life for the past few months. “But Fubuki-san’s doing a lot to help.”

* * *

_Present day_

“Is there anything you can do?” Fubuki looked to Judai, as they always had, the last bastion of hope in dark times.

Judai looked away. Seeing the limp body in front of him, he couldn’t associate it with the Manjoume he knew. The Manjoume who had been defiant in the face of everything up to and including death. “Some things just happen.”

“Could you… you could… ease his pain, somehow?”

Fubuki’s eyes were pleading, but Judai shook his head. “Only if he asked me to. And even then, I’m not sure I could do it. Don’t ask that of me.” Yubel touched Judai’s mind, their protective instinct both comforting and terrifying. Judai thought back to Yubel, reassuring them in turn.

Fubuki sighed, crossed his arms, and perched on the edge of the bed. “I know. I just can’t get over how he’d hate for you to see him like this.” He took Manjoume’s wrist, feeling for the barest flutter of a pulse. When he found it he kept his hand there, fingers lightly ghosting over Manjoume’s arm, tracing the stark blue veins.

“You look fine, Manjoume,” Judai said, bright and brash. “At least while you’re laid up we can get your coat put through the wash.”

* * *

_Two weeks earlier_

“I don’t want to,” Manjoume whined, pulling the bedclothes up to his chin. “Can’t I just stay here?”

“You’re all sweaty and I need to change the sheets,” said Fubuki, firmly pulling the covers back. “Come on.”

Manjoume made a show of complaint, huffing and groaning as Fubuki supported him to slide into the wheelchair. He watched Fubuki take the sheets off the bed, his master exuding the same brisk confidence in his nursing role as he had in matters of duelling, or love. “What’s the point? They’ll only get dirty again.”

“Then we’ll clean them again, won’t we?” Fubuki’s smile made crinkles appear beside his eyes. Even his wrinkles were attractive, thought Manjoume. Why couldn’t he have aged disgracefully like any other man? “Sliding into clean sheets is one of life’s great pleasures. Greater, if you’re not alone.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to be jumping into bed with me any time soon,” grumped Manjoume. He knew he was blushing at Fubuki’s implication.

“Well, that depends on who you ask,” said Fubuki, moving behind Manjoume’s chair to push him to the bathroom.

Fubuki ran the bath water, testing the temperature with his wrist, and putting far too many bubbles in as usual. It annoyed Manjoume’s brothers and saved him some embarrassment, so he liked it, even if he did come out smelling like Strawberry Fairy Dream.

Fubuki draped a towel over Manjoume’s lap. As usual, Manjoume wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms while Fubuki undid the buttons on Manjoume’s shirt. Their eyes met as Fubuki slipped the top off Manjoume’s shoulders. Fubuki paused, silent, searching, and his hand shifted as if to cup Manjoume’s sunken cheek. He paused, then patted Manjoume’s cheek, twice. “Time to get in.”

Manjoume put an arm around Fubuki’s shoulders, holding his towel with the other hand, and allowed Fubuki to lift him bridal-style from the wheelchair to the bath lift. The lift started its whirring descent into the warm water.

“Do you want me to help you today?” asked Fubuki, offering Manjoume a washcloth as he sat on the recently vacated chair.

“No, I’ll be okay,” said Manjoume, splashing the water gently with his hands before taking the cloth. The weightlessness and warmth that a bath gave him did much to relieve his more superficial ills for a few moments. It was getting out of the bath that he dreaded, returning to that state of pained wrongness – wrong temperature, wrong dosage, wrong position, wrong time.

Fubuki picked up his ukulele and plinked out a few notes, tuning the strings, humming. “What do you want to hear today?”

“I don’t mind. Something soft.”

Fubuki nodded and started tapping a beat on the wood. He strummed the intro chords quietly and started singing, low and breathily. It took Manjoume a little time to recognise the pop song in its ballad incarnation. He settled back in the bath to listen.

Although he had no formal training, Fubuki usually sang with all of his heart which carried him far. His voice was a little tremulous today though, Manjoume thought, and he was struggling to hit some of the high notes. Looking over Manjoume could see Fubuki hunched over the ukulele, straining to perform the lyrics about a burning, reckless love.

Manjoume scooted forward a bit, enough so that he could put a soapy hand on Fubuki’s forearm. Fubuki stopped playing, but he didn’t look over at Manjoume, his face hidden by a curtain of chestnut hair. “I can’t get this song today, I’m sorry. I’ll try something else.”

“You don’t have to,” said Manjoume, clinging on to Fubuki’s arm, but Fubuki gently nudged him off.

“I want to,” said Fubuki, and struck a few chords. Manjoume leant on the side of the bath, watching him. Fubuki started humming a tune, gentle and swooping over the repetitive ukulele.

“I don’t know that one,” said Manjoume. “Is it one of yours?”

“Mm-hmmm,” Fubuki affirmed, playing on. “I don’t have lyrics for it yet.”

“I like it,” said Manjoume. “It’s pretty.”

“Then I’ll write it for you,” said Fubuki. He put the ukulele down, sniffing noticeably.

“M-master?” Manjoume turned back to face the wall. “Could you help me wash my back?”

It was achingly long before Fubuki responded, picking up the washcloth and rubbing gentle circles on Manjoume’s back.

* * *

_Present day_

“How have you been, Judai-kun?” Fubuki cast a glance back at him as he pulled clean glasses from the kitchen cupboard, filling one with water from the filter. “I heard your parents declared you missing again.”

“Oh, really?” Judai grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I should stop by.”

Fubuki opened the fridge and took out three ramune and a large carton of strawberry milk, pouring the latter into a glass. “Manjoume says they used to call him, asking where you were.” Fubuki smiled at the recollection as he passed a ramune to Judai. “He always said the same thing – how the hell should he know – and hung up.”

“Eheh…” Judai scraped at the plastic wrapping to peel it off. “I can’t always communicate. I might be somewhere without phone signal or wifi.” The ramune marble dropped with a soft pop under pressure.

“You could at least let people know before you leave,” Fubuki admonished with a stern look. “A couple of times Asuka was ready to send out a search party.”

“I get it, I get it,” said Judai, waving it off with the open bottle.

Fubuki looked at Judai through narrowed eyes. Judai’s smile, disarming as it was, didn’t give Fubuki much faith that he’d taken in the lesson. He sighed softly and picked up the drinks tray.

“You’re having to wait on Manjoume’s brothers as well?” asked Judai as they headed off to distribute the drinks. “That must be hard work.”

“It’s not like that,” said Fubuki. “They’re not asking anything of me. But I know they’re hurting, too. So if all I can do is offer them a distraction, a chat and a drink, then I’ll do that.”

“Doesn’t it get draining, helping everyone else all the time? Who’s helping you?”

“Me? I’m fine.” It was an accomplished lie, achieved with the help of cooling gel pads to de-puff the eyes, theatrical training to maintain composure, and an unhealthy dose of suppressed emotions. Fubuki nudged the door of Chosaku’s home office with a shoulder, but the door was shut tight.

Judai reached for the handle.

A buzzer at Fubuki’s belt hummed insistently.

A glittering crash of glass and liquid flew from the wooden floor.

* * *

_One week earlier_

The garden was still, save for the soft whispering of the breeze in the trees. Fubuki watched the leaves gently rustle from the small wooden teahouse. It should be calming, being here, sat next to Manjoume asleep in his chair, but Fubuki’s heart was anything but tranquil. He fidgeted with Manjoume’s blanket, adjusting it where it was beginning to slip from his lap, and pressed the other’s hand delicately.

A burst of noise and colour heralded the arrival of Manjoume’s daughter, pursued by her frustrated mother and a futile warning not to run. Kaoru zipped around the bushes, a hyperactive black-haired yellow-frocked bee, until she spotted the two in the teahouse and zoomed in to drop dramatically at Manjoume’s feet. Junko followed, short on breath and ready to scold, but stopped on seeing his sleeping figure.

“Daddy?” Kaoru prodded at Manjoume’s feet. He didn’t respond.

“You said on the phone, but seeing him…” Junko lifted a hand, clenching it against her chest.

“Hello, Junko.” Fubuki stood to give her a hug, holding her until the shaking subsided. Kaoru joined in, clinging on to Junko’s leg. “Hello, Kaoru.”

Fubuki lifted Kaoru onto Manjoume’s knee. “Daddy’s asleep right now, but he might wake up soon. Why don’t you tell him about your day?”

Kaoru passed her arms around Manjoume’s neck to secure her position, and started to chat away.

“She’s doing well,” said Fubuki, watching with a small smile at the irrepressible nature of childhood. He indicated to Junko to take a seat, then followed suit.

“Yes,” agreed Junko, teasing a handkerchief between her fingers. “I think she’s seen more of him in the last few months than the previous two years.”

“Really?”

“It was difficult, you know,” Junko looked over at Kaoru to make sure she was still absorbed in story time. “I couldn’t have him living with us after we split, and his schedule was crazy so she couldn’t stay with him very often.”

Fubuki made a respectful hum, and Junko continued. “I don’t think we ever loved each other, not really. I was on the rebound, and he was there. We thought we’d show the world we could be happy, but…”

Manjoume stirred in his chair, the weight in his lap becoming uncomfortable enough to drag him from sleep. It was a struggle to open his heavy eyelids, and he blinked a few times to focus the yellow blur in front of him. On positively identifying it as child and not ojama, he smiled, hugging Kaoru close. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Without him, I wouldn’t have her,” whispered Junko.

Her beatific smile set Fubuki to action. He reached into his pocket for his phone, gesturing to Junko to close the distance with her ex-husband.

“Say cheese!”

* * *

_Present day_

When Fubuki and Judai reached Manjoume’s room, the nurse was already there, unhurriedly checking various readings. Fubuki barged in, rushed over to Manjoume’s side, and frantically grabbed hold of his hand. He looked up at the nurse. She shook her head, not unsympathetically.

Manjoume was still breathing, but his breaths were ragged and shallow, and came too infrequently. Fubuki pawed at Manjoume’s hand, rubbed his fingers, pressed his palm. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “Just one more day.”

Judai watched as a doctor came in and consulted quietly with the nurse. Manjoume’s breaths grew more sporadic, and there was a strange rattle in the back of his throat. After a few minutes the only sounds were the scratching of the doctor’s pen across paper, and his own heartbeat rushing through his ears.

The doctor made some final checks, verifying the lack of even the weakest of pulses, and addressed Fubuki. “I’m sorry.”

Fubuki didn’t move, slumped over Manjoume’s lifeless form.

“I’ll give you some time.” The medical staff padded quietly out of the room. Judai waited, his chest feeling fit to burst in the silence. He felt Yubel’s love reaching out to comfort him.

After a while Fubuki stood and looked blankly out of the window, his arms folded across his chest.  The air felt thick and soupy and he had to concentrate to draw it into his lungs.  He inhaled, exhaled, counting each breath a little longer than the last.

"I loved him."  The words came out as a hoarse whisper.  Fubuki felt the pressure of Judai's hand, briefly, on his back; then heard the door softly open and close, and he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me this long! Now I plan to write a self-indulgent "fix-it" version for my own needs. I can't bear to see this pair unhappy... If you need some fluff keep an eye out for Good End. Otherwise you can leave it here and be miserable :3
> 
> Much love to you all <3 look after yourselves.


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